~
When the voices in the attic of my head
(that dim, dusty place of cobwebs and splintered beams
I know so well) crank up, like a scratchy LP on the
record player I had in high school, their taunts— Sissy! Loser! Clumsy!
You should be ashamed of yourself! My son, the educated fool!—
I know it’s time to open doors and walk out
under cathedral pines—and listen to their choirs
of finches, chick-a-dees and tufted titmice
sing, “Good enough! Good enough! Good enough!”
~
The Geriatric Pilgrim: Traveling the Landscape of Faith and Grief 
Thank you for this. The attic of my head hold so much old junk, it’s good to be reminded that Nature relays the divine voice through the tiniest, humblest, sweetest parts of Creation. I will walk out intp that Cathedral.
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Oh yes! The voice of regret sings songs in our heads. But grace comes in the morning and love heals all wounds.
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Lovely. And now I know why I prefer the littler birds so much. 🌷
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